Picking Up the Pieces
by RomanticizedRebel
Summary: Tag to Past, Present and Future (11x02). "Couldn't live without you, I guess…" he muttered, the sentence a pale imitation of what it was the first time he uttered it." T for language


**Hi, all. This was inspired by a prompt I saw earlier on Tumblr, and my tag to Past, Present and Future. I'm still going strong on "It Was Everything," this is a writing refresher, if you will. Enjoy, review, and be warned- some language.**

He walked through the door of his apartment at 12:52 am and dropped his small duffle bag by the door with heavy limbs and an even heavier heart. His living room was pristine, to the exception of the still-broken window.

"Tony, you are so… loved."

What the hell did that even mean, anyway? What was she trying to say? It wasn't an "I love you"- no, if it had been an "I love you," there would have been a "I want to come home with you" to follow. By saying that he was loved, she had to leave him hanging in the same way she always did- giving him a frail piece of hope to survive against the cold, hard facts. Meanwhile, she was off gallivanting on her journey of self discovery to resolve her issues. You think you got a monopoly on issues, Sweetcheeks? Tell you what, I've got Daddy AND Mommy issues, not to mention commitment, trust, and intimacy issues.

And… abandonment issues.

_Goddamnit_, he needed a drink.

He stormed into his kitchen, grabbed one of the crystal glasses out of the cabinet. Filling it until liquor was spilling over the brim, he took a long, hard swig.

Her subtle chiding over his misuse of alcohol from years before replayed in his head. "And drinking?"

"Not as much as I used to."

Then, there she was. His jet-lagged and sleep-deprived mind decided to produce a perfect mirage of her in the middle of his living room. It was almost as if she were standing right in front of him; her hair, down and wild, and her skin, tanned by the scorching Israeli sun. In the olive grove, the sight had taken his breath away, but now it was just making him angry as she stood there, blinking at him.

"Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can't do?" He growled, taking another long pull of his drink. She still stood there, eyes searching him, and he raised his glass to her in a cold mockery of a toast. "You know what? Hats off to you. You say you want out of our lives, soul searching or whatever, but you still give me your goddamn necklace." He pulled the silver Star of David out of his coat pocket, twining it between his fingers as he took another drink. "Who would do that?" Anger was building behind his words. "Why not just go ahead and give me a lock of hair, or a handkerchief?"

He stood up and advanced on the image of her, but it disappeared, and he sat back down with a bitter chuckle. "That's just like you, isn't it? Running away to Israel with no promise of return, except for this fucking pendant that leaves me hoping. And for what?"

He tried to take another pull of the liquor, but discovered that he had drunk all his. Rather than pour another glass, he grabbed the bottle off the table. "Because you know I'll never be able to get over you. I told you myself."

_Couldn't live without you, I guess._

"Couldn't live without you, I guess…" he muttered, the sentence only a pale imitation of what it was the first time he uttered it. Then, it had been a hello; now, it was a goodbye. It was bitter irony, and he hated her for it. He hated himself for it. He hated Saleem Ulman, Eli David, and the whole goddamn world for it.

And there she was again, standing in the middle of his living room. Her rustled as if the Israeli breeze blew through the confines of Tony's small apartment.

That ridiculous incongruity was the only thing making Tony sure that it wasn't, in fact, her. "Why are you still here?" He growled. "What do you want from me?"

Then, there was the sound of glass shattering, and the bottle of liquor was in shards. Its amber contents spilled across the floor. He was on his feet, screaming. "Why the hell did you have to do this to me? You don't just waltz into somebody's life, stay for eight damn years, make them fall the fuck in love with you, and then just leave! What the hell is wrong with you?" He kicked the side of his coffee table, cursing, but her image still blinked at him. "Get out of my head!" Grabbing the forgotten empty glass off the table, he hurled it straight at her head. It sailed right through and shattered on the wall behind her.

But, then she was gone.

And so was his rage. "Wait, I wasn't finished with you yet-" Tony said, voice hoarse from all the shrieking. "Please, I'm not…" Tears welled in his eyes and in his throat, and he reached towards where she had been. Yet, there was nothing more there than empty space.

It hit him them.

_She was gone._

"Please-" he tried, but his voice broke. He fell backwards onto his couch, and then sank down between his table and couch. His butt hit the wooden floor with an unforgiving thump as his knees slid up to his chest. "God, I hate you," he growled, hitting his fist on the floor with enough force to hurt. "All I wanted was for you to come home." She did not return.

Then, the sobs tore out of him, streaking his face and tearing the bits of his already tattered soul into tiny pieces.

A few hours later, as dawn began to break through the sky, the lock on the door turned. A figure, unhurried, crept into the apartment. He regarded the disarrayed room: Tony's duffle bag was dropped haphazardly on the step. A bottle of liquor had been smashed on the wall, and the contents ran across the floor. Shards of glass lay about. The only thing sorrier than the state of the apartment was the state of his partner.

The man in question slumped between his couch and coffee table, knees pushed up to his chest in an awkward position. He was snoring loudly, and McGee was glad that it was he and not Gibbs who found Tony. He had a feeling that a headslap would not be conducive to his partner's emotional stability.

McGee hopped over the silver shards to reach his partner. "Tony," he tried, giving a light slap to the older man's face. Tony's head rocked back and forth and he gave off a sleepy grunt. "Tony!" he slapped him a little more forcefully.

Tony's eyes blinked open, bloodshot, though whether it was from the flight home or alcohol, Tim was unsure. Maybe both. "Hi, Tim," he half-groaned, cracking his neck. "How you been?" His voice was only a little slurred- Well, Tony's alcohol tolerance was ludicrously high.

"Clearly, better than you," he quipped, offering Tony a hand. Tony shoved the coffee table away with his foot before accepting the proffered hand. Tim dragged him to his feet. Tony was a little slimmer, but heavier- his adventures in the Middle East took a few pounds off of him. Not that he would admit that to him. He helped him to his feet, and then scrunched up his nose. "God, Tony, you smell." He didn't know how to start a conversation in this situation, or to regard the tearstains on Tony's cheeks.

"Nice to see you too, Tony grumbled, dusting himself off. "What are you doing here?" He ignored the destruction around him.

"Coming to see if you were alive. You didn't check in when you landed."

"Was I supposed to?"

"No, but it's been four months since you've been home. We're all wondering about you." He glanced around the room, and then turned back to Tony. "Did you eat on the plane?"

Tony struggled to remember back that far, but couldn't. Then, his stomach decided to help him out by rolling in hunger. "Don't think so."

How was Tony not drunk off his ass, with scotch on an empty stomach? "Why don't we go grab some breakfast? You can tell me what happened." Tony flinched at that, and McGee what he said to provoke Tony's reaction. Maybe he didn't want breakfast. "Or-"

"-No," Tony cut him off, "food sounds good. Just lemme shower." McGee nodded and turned to the room, focused on figuring out what happened in the previous night. It caught him by surprised when Tony patted him on the shoulder as he passed by. "Don't screw around with Delilah. You don't want to live regretting that you didn't make your move. Life's too short not to tell someone you love them if you do."

So that's what it was- McGee had long since "made his move" with Delilah, so Tony was talking about himself. He wondered Tony had found Ziva after all, but he didn't voice that quandary. "I'll definitely remember that," McGee stated, and gestured pointedly towards the bathroom. Tony complied.

While McGee waited for Tony, he set about picking up the pieces of glass on the floor. That was what he would be doing for the weeks and months to come, after all: Picking up the pieces.


End file.
